by Sierra Cross
“Our first duty is to you, mate,” Asher said with a sigh. “We need to keep you out of custody until we can figure out what to do.”
“Doesn’t matter what happens to me. I just have to help her, damn it.” Matt’s response to his new legal status was a surprise to no one.
“Did it ever occur to you that there could be a damn good reason why she’s wanted by the law?” Asher said, finally speaking the elephant in the room. “I’m the first to admit our justice system’s not perfect, but we need to consider. What if Alana’s committed serious crimes? Would you still want to rescue her if she’s a dark witch?”
“I know Alana. She would never go dark.”
“Then why hasn’t she ever tried to contact the light witches?” I asked. “It’s been ten years.”
“She was betrayed. I’m sure she didn’t know who to trust.” Matt hardened his jaw. “All I know is my mother is terrified and needs my help.”
Matt was awfully determined to defend Alana. On the other hand, Alana had been carrying some personal item of Matt’s around all this time…implying she’d never stopped thinking about him. But was that proof she was good? Worthy of him risking his life? And did it matter, even if it was a stupid move? Was I capable of sitting idly by and watching Matt go it alone?
“Let’s just take a breath, shall we?” I said. Asher was right, we needed more information. I grabbed my phone and dialed a number I now knew by heart.
“What are you doing?” Matt asked.
“Calling Larch,” I said. “Let’s at least find out why she’s been arrested, what they’re planning on doing with her…” I hated to think about what this one call would add to my cell bill, but it had to be done. I listened as the foreign sounding connection reached across the ocean. I counted the seconds as the receptionist took her sweet time getting Larch on the line.
“Agent Larch,” she said in her practiced dry tone.
“Ma’am, this is Alix Hill, of the Coven of Fire. I wonder if you could help me answer a question?”
“What, am I now your personal intel agency?”
“Sorry. I’m in a hurry, and I need your help.”
“What is it?” she asked, more annoyed than curious.
“I heard the Barcelona Council Suprema arrested a Coven of Fire witch, Alana Brandt. Can you tell me what the charges are?”
“There’s another witch in your coven?”
It was too complicated to explain right now. “Yeah, long story.”
“Why don’t you just call Barcelona?”
“Ah. Longer story.”
The silence stretched on. I was hoping the truce our coven had reached with the Fidei would be enough to get us one small favor. “Okay, hold on.”
I listened to the bad hold music that faded in and out. I’d probably be able to buy the whole coven a nice dinner out for what this call would cost.
“Okay, anybody asks, you didn’t get this from me,” Larch barked. “Looks like they’ve had her under surveillance for quite a while. Popped on the radar when they noticed a pattern of travel when she was in cities where large quantities illegal goods were being moved. Hold on.” I heard muffled talk, as if she’d covered the receiver with her hand. Then she was back. “What the hell are you up to? Your guardian is a Mal? If you’re aiding or abetting him—”
I disconnected the call as quickly as I could make my fingers move. “Well, that was fast.”
“What?” Matt asked.
“You’re officially an internationally wanted fugitive.” I relayed what Larch had told me, about Alana being wanted for stockpiling illegal goods. “Why would a light witch do something like that?”
“First of all, she’s only suspected of the crime,” Matt said. “Her patterns of travel might be coincidence.”
“I guess.” I’d never been comfortable with coincidences. “I don’t suppose you’d reconsider and let us regroup in Seattle?” I tried again, thinking maybe we could avoid this path all together. We still had a favor we could collect from the vampires. Because they lived for centuries, they were masters at creating new lives and new identities. Maybe they could do that for my coven? As much as I’d hate to leave the Demongate and our responsibilities, keeping all my coven mates alive seemed to be a pretty good goal too.
“No, we have to act now,” Matt said. “They’ll hold her here for a day at most.” He paced as he talked, wearing a path in the already thin carpet. “Who knows where they’ll move her to? She could be buried in the system until…until it’s too late.”
“We can get her good counsel,” I said, trying to be the voice of reason. “Make sure the authorities know there are people watching out for her.”
“Don’t you get it, luv,” Asher said. “There’s no way to get her a fair trial, because there won’t be a trial. She implied the guardians knew she was the mother of a Mal. They execute parents of Mals that don’t disclose.”
“I won’t let her die because of me,” Matt said angrily.
So many possibilities hit me all at once. What had she been doing all these years? Was she really stockpiling illegal goods? If so, maybe she didn’t deserve Matt’s help. But no one deserved to die because of who they chose to love. That was the real crime here.
“But if she’s gone dark—” Asher said.
I shook my head. “We can have this stupid conversation to try and change his mind and end up helping him anyway. Or we can just skip that part and start making a plan to bust Alana out.”
Chapter Nine
Las Calles Mágicas was nothing like the Spelldrift. It was larger, a small city unto itself. No Neqs roamed the streets here, one advantage to not being near a Demongate. The regenerative current bubbled up undiluted, like walking through a puddle of conjuring energy. But the biggest difference was that magic—true, unadulterated magic—was on open display here 24/7.
Our plan—more like a death wish—had led us here for a little black-market shopping.
I couldn’t translate the stores’ signs, but didn’t need to, to know every sale had something to do with magical items. The fonts on paper signs swirled and flipped, leaving shimmering contrails in their wake. Store mannequins struck poses as we passed. Shifters in animal form roamed through the crowd. How the heck could this all be on display without a single shell-shocked Wont flailing about? They must have the entire district warded. Whose energy were they tapping to do that? I didn’t know warding on this scale was possible…and now that I did, all I could think of was, how could we pull off the same thing in the Spelldrift? My mind momentarily wanted to wander off into the how’s of the magic, but every moment we were out on the streets Matt was in danger.
“Can’t we just go into one of the dozen spell supply shops we just passed?” I asked.
Matt shook his head. “The place we’re looking for is around the corner.”
“We can’t just ask anyone for the magical equivalent of TNT,” Asher quipped. “It may not be a high crime, but even here in Magical Mecca it would raise eyebrows. They’d probably just give us a slap on the wrist for a first offense, but with Matt’s situation we don’t want to call attention to ourselves.”
Matt had explained to us that the Council Suprema facility, where Alana was being held, was massively warded. We couldn’t spellbead in, or use invisibility cloaks, or use incantations to compel guards. It was a fortress. Blowing an actual hole in a wall seemed to be our only option. Like some sort of Wont bank robbers. Even though this was our only idea, I was pretty sure it was a bad one.
All new prisoners were held in the east wing—the magicborn equivalent of a jail for short term incarceration. Pooling our magic, we figured we could weaken the wards just enough to strategically plant a spelled explosive on the outer east wall. So now all we needed were magic explosives—which were totally illegal. But Matt swore he had a connection who’d sell them to us. Super yay. Not.
I was on a train straight to fugitive-ville and had no idea how to get off without losing Matt. But we were a
coven, right?
The already narrow street twisted and narrowed again. The buildings were so close together no sunlight fell on the cobblestone walkway, giving it the appearance of night. Amber light spilled out of store windows. Not many magicborn had traveled this far down the street. I could hear talking from shops nearby but couldn’t pinpoint where the sounds were coming from. I was squinting to read the letters of a hand-carved wooden sign hanging above a doorway when suddenly my vision went black.
Adrenaline pumped into my bloodstream and my heart thumped double time. I froze in my boots, the scent of musty books filling my nostrils. My vision started to clear…but it wasn’t Las Calles I saw.
I was surrounded by ancient books, floor to ceiling shelves of them. The light was dim, the air cool but not humid. My body was thrumming with fear. Not my fear. Liv’s. I’d been sucked into her head, through the coven bond.
I tried to focus. I was in a library, no, it had to be the Rare Records Room. What could be scary in here? I looked down. My hands—Liv’s hands—rested on a page in an illuminated book, fingers fused on a single line of text like they were caught in a bear trap. Tears were welling up in her eyes, making the words hard to decipher. There was something about the Itinerant Possession Liv was talking about before we left and…taking a pulse? Could that be right? I couldn’t read it clearly. I sank further into Liv’s body, and the pinch of pain in my hands swelled to excruciating agony, like the skin was blistering off. I wanted to pull free of the book, away from the sensation of flame but I was paralyzed. The book itself was her attacker, I realized. It was enchanted—by someone who didn’t want this information to get out? My whole body was in lockdown, and the fire traveled up my arms. My breath came in short gasps, barely enough to fuel my brain. Was I going to pass out? Surely the flame would swallow me if I did. But it wasn’t fire on my arms, it was dark witch’s red magic. Thick, like a burning gel. Clinging to my skin, oozing up my arms. Oh my god, Liv! In my panic, every spell I’d ever learned escaped me, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t really there. I couldn’t spell her out or pull my enchanted dagger and cut her free. I wanted to thrash, but Liv’s body refused to respond to my will.
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. Red searing pain had spread to my shoulders. Liv was mumbling a spell, her voice so faint I didn’t hear it at first. A hint of golden magic peeked out of her fingertips. Liv knew a counter spell! The red pain didn’t advance past her shoulders. I felt her trying to cordon off the pain, to focus on pulling magic from her core. She was a badass of magical manipulation. Like an Olympic athlete, training and muscle memory kicked in. Pain was relegated to the back burner. How was she doing this? Her magic rose from inside her, streamlined, tightly choreographed, its power centralized. Magic shot out of her fingertips. With laser exactness, she severed the connection to the book. My legs gave way. I collapsed in a heap on the cobblestones.
Matt’s face loomed in front of me, his sharp brown eyes lit with a mixture of confusion and panic. He seemed to be shouting, but I was only partially back. My ears were the last to catch up. After a minute, I fully returned to Barcelona.
Asher was on edge, waiting for me to fully land back in the present moment so I could explain what I’d seen in the vision.
“What did you see?” Matt asked. Apparently Asher must have explained the ‘gift’ of our coven tattoos. “Was it Liv?”
“Yeah,” I said. “She found a book that really didn’t want to be read.”
Asher raised an eyebrow. “And by the fact that you’re not collapsed in a veil of tears, she’s okay now?”
“I guess?” I felt like I’d left Liv hanging. But logic told me if she were in danger I’d still be in her head. And even if I were in her head, I couldn’t do anything to save her. What kind of a benefit was this? Matt was on the verge of picking me up like a damsel in distress. And Asher looked as if he might fight him for the job. Screw that. I popped up to standing, compelling my shaking muscles to hold me upright.
“Crisis averted. Let’s move onto the next one.” I powered my way through the shop’s front door, trying to ignore the tense feeling this vision had left behind. The aftermath of adrenaline twitched through my body. I reminded myself Liv seemed to have things under control. While I always knew she was a better spellcaster than me—in our training sessions she learned everything exponentially faster than I did—experiencing her finesse from the inside gave me a whole new perspective. Her control and power impressed the hell out of me…but also left me doubting. I was a magical conundrum, getting some complex incantations with ease but often struggling to memorize even the simplest spells. Why had the coven tattoo chosen me to be the leader?
The three of us filled the tiny shop, making it feel even smaller. Shelves jammed with wax-sealed jars and bottles and paper sacks, all with handwritten labels, lined the walls. No logos or fancy wrappers. None of this stuff was geared to a tourist crowd. Behind the counter a bald old man sat on a stool and a woman of indeterminate age stood with her hands on the glass counter. She looked at us with startlingly blue eyes. Her black hair a wild nest of curls trailing over her shoulders. “La bienvenida a todos ustedes,” she said. A slight smile softened the fine lines around her mouth as she spoke. “What can I help you with?” Her accent was so thick it sounded like she was still speaking Spanish.
“We have a rather unusual request,” Matt began. “And I have it on good authority that you’re the only witch I should deal with.”
“Señor,” she said, eyes narrowed. “I specialize in unusual.”
“Perhaps we should speak in private?” Matt looked around.
“You think the walls have ears? Or my husband is untrustworthy?” she joked.
“All right,” Matt said. “We need fuego rápido, blasting caps, and charges. A lot of them.”
The woman gave a small laugh. “I said unusual, señor. Not illegal.” If she was shocked, though, it didn’t show on her face. “But I’m happy to sell you anything else you see on our shelves.” She dipped her hand into a glass jar of octagonal multi-colored beads. Even the escape spellbeads looked different here. “These are truly unique,” she boasted. “Unlike anything else in the magicborn world. I spell them myself.”
“We’ll take some of those too,” Matt said, undeterred. “Along with the formula, caps, and charges.”
“Perhaps my English is not good.” An ominous edge to her voice. We don’t have what you’re looking for—”
“You’re English is fine,” Matt said.
“Then perhaps yours is not so good.” Her hand was on her hip. I had the feeling we were inches from being thrown out of the shop.
“My old squad leader, Sergeant Blaylock, used to talk about this place as if it were the holy grail of…shall we say…difficult-to-find magic.”
At the mention of Matt’s former instructor her eyes widened just a fraction. Fear? Respect? “He must have been thinking of a different shop.”
“Nope. He described you to a tee.” Matt said, practically taunting her. There was an implied threat in what he was saying that I didn’t quite understand, but she sure seemed to.
“Times change, señor. Today, I have whatever you see on our shelves.” Her attempt at sounding definitive fell short.
“Yeah, Blaylock, he was good to me. Always wanting me to have the resources I needed.” Even though Matt hadn’t spoken to the man in years, he seemed confident mentioning Blaylock would get us what we needed. “He even gave me your true name. Nastr—”
“How much fuego rápido do you need?” she asked, cutting him off. Matt held out a scrap of paper with his chicken scratch notes of what he thought it would take to blow a hole in a supposedly impenetrable wall. “Once you go down this road there is no return,” the woman warned. Matt continued to hold out the paper, and at last she sighed and snatched it from his hands. “So you have chosen your path.” She shook her head and shuffled off to the back to fill our illicit order.
“Why did that work?” I asked.
<
br /> “There’s a curse on her true name,” Matt explained. “Apparently she got into some trouble with a coven of dark witches some time back. After I graduated, I did a stint with the Ranger Elites. Those guys often run into sticky situations. Only way out is spellcraft that witches are...reluctant to provide.”
“Aren’t you full of surprises,” Asher said with a hint of disapproval. “You wouldn’t let me strong arm that contemptible twerp of a mage, but I see you’re not above it when it comes to our fellow magicborn.”
Matt shrugged. “I would have stopped before I said the whole name. It was a bluff.”
“Sure didn’t sound like you were bluffing,” Asher said.
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?”
Matt was threatening to activate a dark witch’s curse? That did seem out of character for him. Had the stress pushed him over the edge? Or did knowing Alana was alive—and his mother—give him a reason to start fighting?
The man behind the counter sat on his stool and watched us intently without commenting. I got the feeling he didn’t speak English. But my spidey senses were starting to tingle. “Let’s get what we need and get the heck out of here,” I said, reaching into the glass jar of spellbeads. Damn, only seventy-five euros per bead? That was less than a hundred bucks—the equivalent would cost at least five hundred back home in the Spelldrift.
Asher tilted his head and watched as I scooped up a half dozen and set them on the counter, “Think you have enough there?”
“You’re the one who’s always telling me to be prepared.” We were walking into a battle with armed soldiers. If this wasn’t an occasion to be overly prepared, I didn’t know what would be. “You should grab some, Asher.”
The old man silently stood and started to ring me up. I pulled out my wallet. I’d gotten euros at the airport. It might be all my savings, but it was worth it.
“I think you’re grabbing enough for the both of us.”
Matt’s gaze ping-ponged between the shop entrance and the back room. He was on high alert too—if I looked closely I could see there was a subtle shimmer of blue guardian magic all over his body.